THE SAVING OF "LA MARGUERITE"--(A HOVEL).
"The spirit of the storm pursued
Their long and toilsome way;
At length, in ocean solitude,
He sprang upon his prey.
'Havoc!' the shipwreck-demon cried,
Loos'd all his tempests on the tide,
Gave all his lightnings play."
_J. Montgomery._
The case of _La Marguerite_, a small French brig that was rescued from
great peril by a Margate lugger, assisted by the Ramsgate steamer and
life-boat, will perhaps convey a sufficient idea of the difficulty and
danger that frequently occur in rescuing vessels from positions of
peril, and in bringing them in their damaged condition safely into port.
_La Marguerite_, a small French brig of 187 tons, is owned by her
captain, an honest and brave French seaman, and represents to him a
great part of the savings of many years' hard work and economy.
She is bound from Christiana to Dieppe with a cargo of deals; her hold
is full, and her deck piled up and hampered with cargo almost to the
level of her gunwale.
But on she goes rolling through the seas, with a fair wind and fine
weather, and her crew suffer only that amount of discomfort which must
always be the case when the deck of a vessel is so crowded with cargo.
The fresh breeze increases in force, and threatens a storm; the men
close reef the topsails and speed on their way; they make the Orfordness
light on the Essex coast, and then, correcting their course, steer for
the Knock and Galloper lights, which are stationed to guard sands so
named, and which are situated about eighteen miles from the North
Foreland. The breeze lulls a little, and they shake out a reef in the
sails; it is now getting somewhat thick--they soon make out a couple of
lights, but they shine so dimly through the mists that the crew conclude
that they are only fishermen's lights, and shaking out another reef,
they run fast before the wind, carefully steering their course by the
compass; but all this time a strong set of tide has been carrying them
to the northward and westward; this they have not discovered, and are
quite unaware that they are getting into a dangerous neighbourhood.
The captain is on deck; he is well-pleased at the prospect of making a
rapid voyage, and seeing that the night is likely to be wet and squally,
he gives his crew an extra glass of grog all round and goes below,
taking a last look at the compass, and feeling fully assured that they
are steering a straight course home.
In an hour or two the men on deck have their attention aroused by a
hoarse murmur which seems right a head of them, and which sounds like
the noise of waves breaking upon the shore. They look at the compass,
their course is correct, they cannot account for it; a couple of men run
forward, and soon see distinctly a white line of foam gleaming out in
the darkness, and make out the flash of the breakers as they leap high
in the air; they are terror-stricken at the sight, and, with a loud cry
of "Breakers ahead! breakers ahead!" they rush to the hatchway and shout
to the captain to come on deck at once; he, poor man, rushes up and
hurries to the wheel, round it flies, but before he can get the brig's
head round, she mounts upon a breaker, is thrown forward and grounds
heavily upon the Sands.
Where are they? Where can they be? What horrible mistake have they made?
they think they must have run somewhere on the mainland, on the Kent
coast; one man proposes to swim ashore with a rope, but the seas come
sweeping over them with a degree of violence, that quite does away with
any thought of making such an attempt. They hurry to the long boat to
try and get it out, but it and the only other boat which is in the brig
are speedily swept over board by the seas. The vessel is on the edge of
the sands and feels all the force of the waves as they roll in and leap
and break upon the bank; with every inrush of the seas she lifts high
and pitches, crashing her bow down on the sands, each time with a thump
that makes her timbers groan, and almost sends the men flying from the
deck.
As the big waves recoil and leap against her in all directions she
rolls heavily, while her masts sway, and her yard-arms almost touch the
water on either side.
The tide is rising, and as she lifts she beats each time a yard or two
over the Sands; the timbers, piled upon her decks, speedily break loose
and are washed away; the hull is writhing and working very badly--her
seams open; and so heavily does she strike, that time after time the
captain thinks that she must soon break up. This thrashing over the
Sands lasts for about twenty minutes, when they find that she is in deep
water, but completely water-logged, and torn and wrenched almost to
pieces; her rudder is knocked away, and if her cargo were anything but
deals she would sink at once, and all would be instantly drowned; as it
is, so long as her timbers will hold together her cargo will keep her
afloat, and her crew are comparatively safe. But she is by no means a
strongly-built vessel, and could not by any possibility stand much more
of the thumping and wrenching which she has just gone through, while
beating over the Sands.
The captain is still unable to make out where they are; they get a heave
of the lead, and find that they are in thirteen fathoms of water; it
must be a sandbank in the middle of a channel that they have just beaten
over--they had better anchor at once for fear the ship should be driven
upon another bank.
"Is the anchor clear?"
"No," cries the mate. (It is neglect of such matters as these that loses
many a fine ship.)
"Get the anchor and cable clear, then, as quickly as you can, or we
shall be on the sands again; for although the brig is water-logged, the
wind is driving her fast, and the tide is running with great speed."
After some delay they get the anchor overboard, and the brig rides to
it, head to wind.
The men gather together in the stern of the vessel, and group round the
captain, and as there is no work to be done to keep up their excitement,
they the more fully realize their danger, and begin to express their
fears.
They speak of their wives and children, and bemoan their own probable
fate.
The captain is the greatest sufferer, and the bravest hearted of them
all.
"Look at me!" he replies. "Have not I got a wife? Have I not got six
children? Do I want to be taken from them, any more than you do from
yours? Besides, this is my own ship, you know that, and you know that
she is all I have got--all I have worked and saved for; if I lose her, I
lose all I have, and am a poor man again; you may be sure I'll do all I
can to save the ship and our lives too."
But the men watch how severely the brig pitches in the heavy seas. The
cable strains as if it would tear itself out of the ship, and the men
are afraid it will part, or the anchor drag, and think the ship would
ride more easily if her masts were cut away; they urge the captain to
have it done; but the ship is not insured, and he, poor man, knows how
great must be the expense of repairing her if she is saved, and
naturally does not wish to increase that expense by losing her masts,
so for some time he resists their entreaties; but at last is forced to
give an unwilling consent to have the foremast cut away. The carpenter
seizes the hatchet, a few heavy blows, and a great notch gapes in the
mast, they cut the weather shrouds, and after the ship has given two or
three heavy rolls, the mast goes over with a loud crash, falling well
over the side clear of the vessel; one man receives a nasty gash in the
cheek, from a splinter from the falling mast, but is not much hurt. They
cut the rigging of the mast from the vessel, and the mast is speedily
carried astern by the tide.
The brig certainly now rides more easily; the night passes on, and very
long and weary the hours seem. The vessel sinks lower and lower in the
water, right down, indeed, to her deck lining. The captain and the crew
know how weak she is (like some of the small timber ships, she has no
lower hold beams), and they fear that as she is full of water, the
buoyancy of the timber cargo may break up her deck, for she is almost
all to pieces already, and if the deck bursts, she will break up at
once.
All hands, therefore, watch eagerly for the daylight, and as soon as
they are able to see, begin to make a raft; there are a goodly number of
eleven-feet deals stowed on deck which have been jambed too tight to be
washed away by the seas, and the crew begin to lash these together as
rapidly as they can, although, from the rolling and pitching of the
vessel and from the seas washing so frequently over the deck, it is a
matter of great difficulty to do so.
As soon as it is daylight the wreck is seen from Margate, and all is at
once astir down by the jetty and the pier; the life-boat is speedily
manned and gets under weigh, and two fine luggers race with her to get
first to the vessel.
But it is a long beat to windward, and against a fresh gale and strong
tide, and it is doubtful whether either of the boats will be able to
reach the wreck, at all events, before the turn of the tide, or at the
least, slack water. The luggers have, as a matter of course, a
sufficient amount of ballast on board, and are in good sailing trim. The
life-boat cannot be so heavily ballasted, or she would sink when filled
with water, or beat to pieces when grounding on the Sands among the
broken seas; the luggers therefore, make to windward much better than
the life-boat can, and leave her astern, the life-boat crew soon find
that it will be impossible for them to reach the wreck, and return to
Margate; the luggers persevere, and one of them runs alongside the brig
in fine style; the men on board the other lugger think that the brig is
drifting and not at anchor, they therefore make too far to leeward,
astern of her, and cannot beat up into position again.
The men from the first lugger spring on board the wreck; they find that
she is greatly damaged, and working very heavily as she rolls gunwale
under; they think she would ride easier with her remaining mast gone,
and try to persuade the captain to let them cut it away, but he stoutly
refuses his permission, and the Margate men make the best of it, as it
is.
They get the anchor up, and passing a hawser on board the lugger, seek
to tow the brig away from the Sands; knowing the Sands as well as they
do, they hope to be able to get clear of them and get the brig into deep
water; but it is very difficult work, for with her rudder gone there is
no power of steering her, and the weight of the lugger is scarcely
sufficient to keep her head straight: they make a little progress,
however, the tide being somewhat in their favour, but the tide is on the
turn, and they will soon be driven back into their old position, if not
in worse, and the men begin almost to despair of saving the vessel, when
to their great satisfaction they see the Ramsgate steamboat and
life-boat making their way round the North Foreland.
The coastguard officer at Margate, when he saw that the Margate
life-boat could not reach the brig, and knowing that if any sea got up
where the vessel was, that the luggers could be of no use, telegraphed
to Ramsgate that a vessel was on the Knock Sands.
The steamer and life-boat get under weigh at once, and proceed as fast
as possible to the rescue; there is a nasty sea running off Ramsgate,
but it is not until they get to the North Foreland that they feel the
full force of the gale--here the sea is tremendous, and as the steamer
pitches to it, the waves that break upon her bows fly right over her
funnel--indeed she buries herself so much in the seas that they have to
ease her speed considerably to prevent her being completely overrun by
them.
No one on board the boat knows where they are being towed; "a telegram
from Margate," was the first news "the life-boat wanted;" and then in
the hurry and excitement to get under weigh with all possible speed, no
one on board had thought of asking for further particulars.
The life-boat plunges on, and her crew are ready for the work whatever
it is, and wherever it is. As they round the North Foreland they see a
brig, with her foremast gone, in tow of a lugger.
The boatmen cast off the steamer's tow-rope and make for the brig; they
run in close under her lee, and venture too near to her; she is rolling
so heavily that her yard-arm comes right over the boat, and the loose
ropes swaying about catch in the boat's mast; they cannot get the mast
down, and the brig hangs so heavily they fear that she is going to
capsize right upon them; an active fellow severs the entangled rope with
a hatchet, the brig slowly rolls up again, and the life-boat drops
astern.
The boatmen get on board the brig; there are six of the lugger's men on
board; they find that the lugger is quite unable to make any way with
the wreck, and as the tide is on the turn, the vessel is in great peril,
for the Sands are just under her lee; no time must be lost, they signal
to the steamer to come at once, the life-boatmen take a hawser on board
her, and she begins to tow the brig away from the Sands; but the brig's
rudder is gone, and she is sheering right and left, jerking the hawser
at the end of each sheer with a strain hard enough to break it, and the
foremast being cut away, the men cannot carry sail to steady her; she
must be steered by the boats.
The life-boat and lugger drop astern, each having a rope from the
opposite quarter of the wreck. The steamer moves ahead, and as the brig
begins to sheer in one direction, both boats steer in the opposite
direction, and turning their broadsides to the vessel as much as
possible, hang with all their weight, and try and keep her stern
straight; then as the vessel sheers again in the other direction, away
the boats immediately make across her stern, to check her on the other
side.
It is difficult and perilous work, this swiftly sheering across the
brig's stern in the heavy tumble of sea and strong gale, for the boats
can carry no sails to steady them, or they would not be able to sheer
quickly from one direction to the other; and thus they are in constant
danger of coming into violent collision with each other, and once they
strike together very heavily.
The French crew on board the brig are utterly exhausted with fatigue and
excitement, and are quite ready to leave their vessel in the hands of
the English boatmen. The men get the anchor and cable clear and ready
for use if wanted; it is of no good attempting anything with the pumps,
for the wreck is water-logged; and away the brig goes plunging and
rolling with the seas washing over her decks, which are scarcely out of
the water, and the two boats sheering and tossing astern, all being
towed by the gallant little steamer.
As the brig gets good way on her, it is easier to steer her by means of
the boats; but still they do not dare attempt to take her through the
narrow Cud channel, they therefore find their way through the Gull
stream, and round the small Brake-buoy, and then make up for the
entrance of Ramsgate harbour. But the tide has not been long on the
flood, and the strong northerly wind is checking it; and so they doubt
whether there is water enough to take her into the harbour, and wait
until they can see the red light showing on the west pier-head; this is
the signal that there is ten feet of water at the harbour mouth; the
weather is so thick that they cannot for some time see the light, and it
has been up for at least an hour before they can make it out.
They regret every moment's delay, for although it is of no use
attempting to enter the harbour before there is abundance of depth of
water, yet the tide is making more and more strongly every minute, and
it will be a matter of increasing difficulty to steer the brig, in her
present helpless condition, across the strong tide, and through the
heavy seas, into the narrow entrance of the harbour.